


our lives don't collide, i'm aware of this

by highlyannoying



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, Canon Death, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, everything is out of order and it's on purpose but also why did i do it, it's hamlet what did you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlyannoying/pseuds/highlyannoying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horatio is left standing, missing Hamlet's hand in his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our lives don't collide, i'm aware of this

**Author's Note:**

> title is a lyrics from fools by troye sivan (actually listened to fools while writing most of this rip. also listen to it, it's a great song).

Horatio should’ve known from day one the Prince of Denmark would be his downfall. Hamlet gives off the air of a building on the edge of collapse. Even when Hamlet was happy, carefree, Horatio should’ve known not to let himself fall. 

He did anyway. 

•••

Everything blurs together but at the same time, each moment is crystal clear. Each of Hamlet’s last words burn themselves into Horatio’s brain, and as long as he lives, he will never forget Hamlet’s hand clutching his clothes like a lifeline, his other hand wrapping around the cup of poison. Not a day will go by that he won’t think of this exact moment. 

“If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart—”

And god, he does, he did, he will, so Horatio lets go of the cup. 

•••

The first time they kiss, it’s so slow and hesitant that Horatio thinks he might be imagining it. Perhaps he had already left this studying with Hamlet, perhaps he was just imagining the ghost of Hamlet’s lips over his, their hands not quite touching. 

Then Hamlet surges forward, all storm and tidal wave, hands grabbing at Horatio’s clothes, his arms, wrapping around his waist and running through his hair, pulling them as close as humanly possible. When Hamlet pulls back, Horatio follows, and when Hamlet gives him a smile, he knows he shouldn’t fall for him. 

He smiles back, and brings their lips back together, starting the storm anew. 

If Prince Hamlet was the death of him, so be it. 

•••

Horatio follows.

Not blindly, without looking where he is going. He has eyes wide open and keeps walking anyway. He doesn’t know what to call this, whether it be love or something else, so he decides to just leave it at following. 

•••

“Hail to your lordship.”

Hamlet spins on his heels at Horatio’s words, and Horatio catches a split second of the most sober expression he has ever seen the prince wear before it changes to a grin. 

“I am glad to see you well. Horatio, or I do forget myself.”

Horatio fights the laugh bubbling in his stomach, and Hamlet’s wry grin isn’t helping, but he responds, “The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.”

Hamlet waves his hand like that’s a silly thing to say. “Sir, my good friend, I’ll change that name with you.” Hamlet’s smile grows as Horatio’s does. Horatio doesn’t know it, but this is one of the final times he will see Hamlet genuinely happy. 

•••

Ophelia must know. 

He knows about Ophelia, after all. It’s not as though Hamlet never spoke about her, it’s not as though he can’t see them flirting. It’s not as though Ophelia can’t see the same. Horatio doesn’t know whether he should care, whether Ophelia cares, what Hamlet is doing. 

They have an understanding, he thinks. A mutual knowledge that they’re standing on the edge of the world and Hamlet is pulling on all sides and they won’t have a place to stand. Ophelia’s face is filled with the same worry that fills Horatio’s bones. 

He decides he doesn’t care, whether he’s supposed to or not. And he’s willing to bet Ophelia doesn’t either. He exchanges a tired, worried smile with her, and doesn’t care that Hamlet’s kissed both of them. 

•••

“Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man as e’er my conversation cop’d withal.” 

Horatio pauses at this, trying to take no heed of the heat rushing to his face. God, he’s an adult, and yet, all he manages is, “O my dear lord.”

Hamlet has this look of determination when he tells Horatio he isn’t just trying to flatter him (there would be no point, is the gist of it all, of Hamlet saying so if it wasn’t sincere), like it’s infinitely important Horatio understand. The moment vanishes when Hamlet brings up the play, assigns Horatio to watch the King. Horatio doesn’t forget it, although he does try to pretend he doesn’t know the tips of his ears have turned red. 

•••

Being with Hamlet starts to feel synonymous with talking to the stars. Distant. Horatio can’t be sure if his words are reaching. Incomprehensible.

Horatio is a scholar. Educated. The stars cannot be explained by the actions of a Prince, he knows that. But when he looks at Hamlet, he can’t help but think he understands the night sky a little better.

•••

Horatio hears of Polonius’ death from Hamlet himself. Hamlet seems to lose energy as he walks towards Horatio, anger and something wild in his eyes fading to tired detachment. 

Hamlet tells Horatio. Horatio forgives him before he’s even drawn a breath in. They collide together again, and it’s almost like Hamlet’s self-destruction has a taste. Hamlet tells him in between kisses of how he’s going to England, because he has to. Horatio knows there’s no amount of contact with Hamlet that will fix anything, but he pulls the other man close, arms wrapping around him, pressing a final kiss to his neck before resting his head on Hamlet’s shoulder. 

Their breathing syncs, and they don’t move for what feels like hours. Hamlet peels himself away, muttering something under his breath. Horatio intertwines their fingers, squeezing Hamlet’s hand once, and Hamlet smiles in the most distant way he ever could. 

Horatio is left standing, missing Hamlet’s hand in his. 

•••

_He that thou knowest thine,_  
_Hamlet._

He’s so worried. Everything Hamlet does shakes Denmark at its foundations, everything he does causes the world to ripple around him. Tragedy after tragedy, and Hamlet stands right in the middle of it. 

Horatio hopes to God Hamlet will end up safe, and does what the letter asks of him. 

•••

Horatio follows. 

“I am more antique roman than dane. Here’s yet some liquor left.”

The words fall from his lips without him even hesitating, hand wrapped around the glass of poison like it he drinks it, it’ll bring Hamlet back to full health rather than kill Horatio. And it won’t, he knows it won’t. Even if Hamlet could survive this, Denmark is far beyond welcoming him with open arms. But something snaps in Horatio’s stomach and the urge to drink, to drop the empty cup on the floor after, (to bring Hamlet’s lips crashing to his, because they’re doomed anyway but they’re going together), is so strong—

Hamlet’s eyes seem to be more full of fire than Horatio’s ever seen them. One of his hands wraps around Horatio’s clothes, the other reaches for the chalice Horatio holds with shaking hands. His hand wraps around Horatio’s, and they make eye contact. 

“As th’art a man—” Hamlet’s voice sounds like flame, but there’s a note of desperation there, something bordering panic. “—give me the cup. _Let go_ , by Heaven I’ll ha’t! O God, Horatio, what a wounded name, things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me.” 

Horatio draws in a shaky breath. He can’t disregard Hamlet’s dying words, and Hamlet knows that. He’s so tempted to insist, but the look on Hamlet’s face just makes him stop in his tracks. 

He wishes he could prevent the passage of time. This moment is a only a terrible one because of the moments that are about to come to pass. 

•••

Hamlet is dead. Hamlet is dead, and Horatio feels like the world has been tugged out from under his feet. His voice is thick when he talks to Fortinbras and his men, and there’s a lump in his throat that just won’t go away. He tries so hard to just sound angry (and he is, he is angry, as soon as he learn there are more deaths than just these), but there is only so long he can hold back tears. 

•••

Hamlet speaks of his father’s death as though he is made of stone, and then seconds later, collapses into Horatio’s arms, face buried in his shoulder. Voice muffled, he tells Horatio he is returning to Denmark. Horatio just nods. 

It is more of a goodbye than he knows. 

•••

“Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” 

Hamlet’s eyes have closed, and his grip on Horatio’s clothes goes slack. Horatio’s still holding onto Hamlet, and logic tells him to put the other man down, but he can’t get his own fingers to uncurl. As if he clutches tighter it will make up for Hamlet’s hands loosening. 

It doesn’t.

••• 

Horatio can’t decide whether Hamlet’s kisses are destruction or healing. He knows Hamlet is a storm, but he can’t decide if he’s in the eye or directly in the wind. 

Hamlet pushes him back, and Horatio goes willingly, hands intertwined behind Hamlet’s neck, pulling him in again. Hamlet has hands on either side of Horatio, keeping him from falling onto him. Hamlet kisses like every one could be his last, but somehow also like they will never run out of time. Horatio breaks for breath and Hamlet traces kisses on his jawline and his neck. 

When Hamlet meets his lips again, he thinks perhaps it is possible to be both at once. 

•••

When Horatio tells Hamlet’s story, he only tells the parts that other people need to know.

_And the rest is silence._

**Author's Note:**

> nothing is beta'd, as per usual, and i don't know what this is. i just really???? like hamlet??? and shakespeare in general??? and apparently wanted to prove i missed 12 hundred details because that's what i do when i read shakespeare. oh well. bisexual hamlet 2kforever, tbh.


End file.
